the constant mystique of well-organised chaos

noose-knotted

seems-
each time i manage
to forget
(or at least
bathe myself
in the distractions
of the daily)
i am shocked back
to it

good G-d, i am
so tired
of the daily,
that electrocution
seems reasonable

stand my hair on
end
kick the chair
from my planted
feet
and set my skirt
afire with hidden,
unknown folly

or:

send me on sojourns
to hot white
sands
oblivious to the blinding
sun, reflected
off skin, winter-pale
and just as sensitive
to the skimming
of fingers, lost
and yet to be found

my skin is snow
it waits to be
trampled and dirtied
(a seasonal abuse
brought on only by
the unexpected
soundtrack of clicking
keys, unfamiliar voices
and scented strong in
expensive, organic
pheromones)
it waits to melt
and shed to a lush,
moist flora full of
water and life
and colours of blushy
heart-racing sentiment
and hope-truth-
freedom-love

i do not want to die
no-
for the moment
i want to feel something
other than this life-

if only for the day.

hey, pavlov

when everything you drink
turns to pesticide and
you ingest
the poison because
you are thirsty

or when your heart
makes the jump out of
your chest, it lands
in your hands
and you eat it because
you are hungry

and when your every passing
motion distillates its
dust into the air's dust
and the change pulls
you through a flashing
déjà vu, and you see it
because you are lonely

but

if putting your ear to
a conch-shell causes the
sound of the ocean
in your head,
do you hear it not
because you're listening-
but because you
expect it?

madly the sunshine

for days
a cold smoke seemed
to sell itself to me
from above

i conjured you
far too often -
from inside an empty
pack of disease

and i tried
to crush you as
the ease of walking
made itself known

the muse of
dreams, though -
to sift you fine over
sleeping eyelids

the strangest thing
the mirror of desires
the sonic cause of
a million fires

there's a second
at dawn - surface water
flattens and bows
to a G-d

feverish it moves,
and madly - the sunshine
pulls a shadow from
its leaves, warm.

gethsemane

to a tall and ancient ceiling
i am earthbound-
dazzled with the
view of floating souls

the spectre's sceptre
reacts with a solid purpose:
to gaze upon the
ether-sheer inspiring
of damp-eyed
dreamers

but the name i
cannot voice-
the name lodged
in my throat-
isn't truth, or flesh
made real

i am not the child
of the ages

i am the whore of
the carpenter
rebirthed in modern
alabaster sinews

the vessel of hope
on night's last
breath for dawn
in a fearless
and cold quiver

my father
my husband
my lover
my friend
my recreant impression

eyes are dark
to the scene: a prosaic
desert of ripples
and bones
the marking of past
feet blown by
a hot wind

the feeling began
and lost me-
i was pushed more
than i had fallen

knees sandscraped
lips bloody rebellion
inhale the years
behind me
withering and pursed
with a single question

hands reaching out
to touch the unreal

64

Another letter to spell out my thoughts
addressed return to sender
where I'm caught
enveloped
in the present forever

I'm lost and empty
sent in this sentence
I serve sentiments
reserved to walk through
and merge with thoughts
I forgot to remember

It seems this dream
was never meant to be
since all that's left
is this silhouette I keep

Nevermind duets step in time
to this compromise
continued across the line
intertwined fluidly flirting
in seams unraveled
felt intangibly

I'd rather sleep in the cellar
of my scattered dreams
of interstellar scenes
than live the life
that exists for me

If I could breathe you in
this sigh of relief
a slice of bliss
a kiss we breathe
you'd be alive
with me inside
to leave the pressure
of the world behind

I'd close my eyes to fall asleep
finally able to rest in peace

It severs me in fires of irony
this separate piece of me
I'll never meet
admired in secret siren rings

My eyes (he's beautiful)
I see my moods
of woozy swoons in him

A silent night that screams
to ride the tides
in swooping slurs
that loop through him

My coup of words infected
to neglect me
irregular my chest beats
instead of him blessed
wings in clips of him

The scissors of misery
in blizzards of blades
incisioned to witness my vision
enslaved in nether realms
to never exist except in my grave

I'm left to live in this mystery
dismissing the ghost I chase
his figure seen in litters of letters,
rivers of measures
recorded in metaphysical lyrics
that set the board with
metaphorical spirits

I hear what I said before
I heard what I'm headed towards
The tears that I've shed before
storm back in the torrents
that I've kept in store

I bet my soul empty
on the thoughts that tempt me;
he never relents
to ever send in his frenzy
to capture my attention
and have me arrested

It's so difficult to acculturate
my role and conscious state
when he's the one
who soothes my soul
and dulls the pain

The figure of his silhouette
lingers in wisps his fingers
that seduce me, "come hither...."

My delivery met with
pictures of hypnotic rests
that lock me vexed
a fox for vixens
I'm mixed in
and lost in this vision of heaven

This bliss is forever
but it's never with me

My message is seized
with the letters I breathe
rejected and cleaved in
this deflected reflection of me.

goodnight neophyte

he was the machine
that saw inside
her head
that felt the body
of the invisible
moving below
the lights of unmet
streetlamps looking
on

the hum of a motorway
heard a depth
of tone
where speed divides
danger, excitement
extracting from the
united states of neurotica-
a fervor crucified
in the screeching
of brakes

the thousand lace-like
lacerations spread
their mesh over the
steaming surfaces-
a penant walk over
miles-
the phenomonon
still presents its puzzles

but remain
a mystery swelling
in the pulled-sugar
clamp of her sex
dreaming of all her-
limbs expanding over
time and tides of chains
and intervention

the movement of hands
stay steady-
their will a slave
they know no difference.

composite

the weight
that calls me from sleep
plays in my head
more potent than
a sudden, rising
bell

is this love?
i asked-
not knowing or forewarned
of implication
or the tumble taken
to the freeform floor

(the loves we choose
wander through motes
of tight-woven
sentimentality-
only hindsight,
comparative wishes
to do no harm)

a query brightened
its return:
a solemn nod and
promise of forever

but is it the experience?
i asked-
forgoing the end
only wanting the path
of his sun
a guide to my step

(the lightness found
its crevice in his heart
flowing, a slight
planet's nova shining
within a single smile)

an equilaterally
halved circle circumfrenced
by another, less conflicting
orb: the nucleus of all
desire hidden
within a pulsing
well of blood and semen-
the origin of all truth

(do we question the existence
of love only to objectify it?
or quell the vanity that
rests inside us?

my hands roam the skin
of the loved and find
no answer.)

my eyes scratch the primary
gossamer tinge
they focus in blinders
they prove a degree
of certainty that a visible
artifact must surely
debunk old theory:

that what cannot be defined
is quite obviously blind.

a refusal to acknowledge
a flaw, a crack,
a sunspot fading
was my only crime.

winter behind moss curtains

still
tucked in
the spoon of your hips
how many plucked
lullabies to sleep

i dreamt your
mouth gazing through
negative space to
the flesh of my neck

breathe my hair
inflate my spine
hold your palm
at my hip and
cure this love's
casualty

and i dreamt your
unkissed eyes broadening
beneath a furrow
wield the protection
of a greedless motive

but your lips make shapes
lubricous to the sound
of the mythical across
boundaries and wires
the tissue shreds
and is swept away

the sweat of flushed
goosebumps
smoothed under january
air-

under a cumulus
well-traveled